What's the Story, Morning Glory?
by Socially Suicidal
Summary: A short piece originally intended for the celebration of Gaara's birthday that never quite hit the printing presses. A look inside one morning shared after a night of celebration. Easily a summary of their unorthodox relationship. Extended summary inside.


A spin from my normal writing… I decided to follow my muse and write this clear off the top of my head. Let me know if it's too slow or too detailed or boring, constructive criticism is what I'm looking for with this piece.

**Summary: **A short drabble originally intended for the celebration of Gaara's birthday that never quite hit the printing presses. Based on a covered song sang by Sum 41 and originally by Oasis. A look inside one morning shared after a night of celebration. Easily a summary of their unorthodox relationship. Rated T for references.

What's The Story, Morning Glory?

By Socially Suicidal

**Disclaimer:** I do _not_ own Naruto or _What's the Story Morning Glory_.

I could feel the light beginning to penetrate my closed eyelids as I slowly woke up, causing whatever kind of vision I was limited to take a sort of orange-red tinge. My whole body was feeling stiff with sleep and the drainage whatever amount of alcohol that had worked its way into my bloodstream the night before; I stretched my legs underneath the warm covers lazily without opening my heavy eyelids. Flopping onto my back from my side, I rolled my shoulders and then slowly sat up. I let the covers fall off my chest leaving me exposed, not that I particularly cared for a dull throb within my head had focused my attention entirely on being rid of it.

Yawning, I finally took the initiative to rub my sleepy eyes to slowly wake myself up. My groggy mind gradually allowed my senses to kick in and for the first time since I awoke I smelt a potent aroma of espresso drifting from the kitchen, down the hallway, and finally into the bedroom.

With that scent as motivation, I pushed myself to my feet and slowly gathered the strength it took to reach down to the floor where I thought my ruby colored panties had been deposited. Frowning, I discovered no such article of clothing and found myself in the predicament that forced me to grab the soft grey fabric of a pair of boxers that were strewn a small bit to the left of the bed. After I pulled them over my legs, with more fluid motions I picked up the thermal black shirt that had been strewn on the floor not twelve hours before. Pulling it over my head as I walked down the hallway, I chose not to enter the living room but to follow the fragrance straight into the kitchen which I found empty.

There was no tall redhead (if he could be called that considering his hair was more of a light maroon type shade) leaning on marble counter drinking black espresso and reading some ridiculously long, boring novel with tiny print and barely legible diction about war that happened centuries ago (or something of that effect.) The lights were even dimmer than usual and the stainless steel appliances all blinked the morning's time, which I had not been previously aware of.

As I wondered where the brewer of the coffee was, as there was about a cupful already missing from the pot in the machine, I took my favorite white mug from the cabinet and poured myself a still steaming cup of the delicious liquid. Staring down at the still black coffee void of any sweetener I suppressed the urge to sigh as a slow smile formed at my lips. I took a sip and actually enjoyed the bitter taste. It was remarkable how much of himself he managed to impress upon me, however persuasive his self may be.

Still not fully awake despite my distant musings, I yawned yet again. Regardless of how he managed to change me, I needed a little time to wake up, unlike he who could simply rise from bed fully on task with not a whisper of complaint. Where was he anyway?

Drinking my highly caffeinated hot beverage, I strolled out of the kitchen into the moderately furnished living room. A burgundy couch and matching loveseat framed the small glass coffee table in front of the fire place, which was currently closed with no fire roaring within its stone chambers. The television above the mantle was on displaying the weather for the next week but the volume had been muted.

My eyes swept over the living room of the apartment and finally fell on the bay window to the left of the furnishings. Sure enough, there was the tall redhead I had expected in the kitchen equipped with his coffee mug full of what I was sure was black espresso. However, his book was closed on the window sill as he leaned his bare shoulder onto the window staring with his forehead against the glass at the city below where the people were bustling to work in the morning hours. He wore his black sweatpants with the name of his dojo printed down the side in bloody red text but had chosen to leave his defined torso and chest exposed. The glare produced by the rising sun restricted my view of his pale, chiseled face which probably held his normal blank expression.

I found myself smiling and approached him wordlessly, leaning on the window next to him sipping the still hot coffee he had prepared earlier. His jade eyes fell upon me and slid over my form which was clothed with his very own clothing. Giving an approving nod, his eyes fell back upon the half risen sun before he uttered a quiet "good morning" to which my smile widened. It always amazed me how a man of such little words possessed the ability to show such physical affection and desire merely hours before the sun rose.

"Good morning, thank you for making coffee" I replied pleasantly, lifting the warm cup to my lips for emphasis. Despite his shortage of sweet words or other verbal affections which I know sometimes made him feel inferior to other men, small tasks such as making coffee or having dinner ordered when I came home at night often meant more than meaningless words that when repeated meant nothing over time. He nodded yet again nonchalantly, arrogant as he was, accepting my appreciations. Setting said mug on the window sill, I slid my arms around his thin waist slowly, keeping my eyes resting on his passive face.

His free arm slid around my shoulder while his face leaned down to press upon my forehead, "Did you sleep well?" I asked into his collarbone, concerned. He could never get a good night's rest, constantly plagued with nightmares from his horrible upbringing; I refused to even call it a childhood. Coming into the world only to have his mother taken by death from her third childbirth, his father hated and beat him while his siblings feared their father enough to outcast their baby brother until the death of said sorry excuse for a man. His mother's brother who supposedly loved him enough to care for him in the early years of his life, the only person who would, betrayed him and he learned at a very young age how corrupt people could truly be. Only when the man who claimed to be a father was six feet under compacted dirt did his two older siblings, Kankuro and Temari, attempt to make amends with the brother they had cast out of their life and shown no love to for the years he struggled to grow up. And by no small means did he struggle in his adolescence. Using violence as an outlet for his great loneliness, he constantly got into fights and beating the peers brutally who also didn't accept him gained him an unspeakably dangerous and feared reputation as a merciless bully. Prior to meeting Naruto, this was the only way he knew how to live, loving and living only for himself.

Naruto, being the heaven-sent idiot he was, showed Gaara not all people would hurt him in the end. It took quite a while for him to understand and accept this, and he still didn't treat people the way he would had he not had been betrayed so many times by his own family, but eventually Gaara started using martial arts as a constructive outlet for his anger and pain. He found much more satisfaction in beating an opponent who was able and willing to fight him than a victim who was not, it seemed. Because of his ruthless combat style, he quickly excelled and became quite renowned among the dojos as a great fighter and worthy opponent. He spent his passionless fighting just to survive, but now his passion had become fighting, and he survived to fight.

I couldn't say I approved of him going into an arena with a man whose sole purpose was to hit him, but it's what he loved. I could never take that away. After my musings, I found myself frowning. I mentally shook away the negative thoughts; it was simply not a way to wake up in the morning.

The man gave a hint of a shrug, "Somewhat," he replied stoically. My lips lifted back to their previous smiling position; "somewhat" was a better answer than usual.

"I'm glad," I nuzzled into his neck, closing my eyes and enjoying the warmth that emanated from him. I felt him nod as he pulled his arm a bit tighter around my shoulders. We stayed in a distinct sense of serenity and content for a few moments while the rising sun slowly but surely finished it's ascent above the horizon of many tall buildings and urban structures of the region.

Finally breaking the silence, my amusement mixed with slight embarrassment found its way into my voice laced with a false sense of innocence, "So, Gaara, was your birthday celebration to your pleasure?"

His chuckle came in the form of a soft cough as his eyes trained down to the top of where my bed headed mop of hair met my over-sized (which was a matter of opinion, no doubt) forehead. "It was," he replied almost earnestly. However the rare moment of sincerity was over rather quickly as he continued, his normal arrogant tone back with a vengeance, "However, are you missing something?"

The comforting pressure created by his arm pressed against my back disappeared while he reached into the deep pocket of his pants. I felt my expression crumble into confusion as he pulled out a small deep ruby fabric and held it to my eye level.

I visibly twitched as my face reddened. "You insufferable pri—" I went to reach for my respective cloth only for it to be quickly yanked out of my reach.

"I found them for you; will you not appreciate my chivalry?"

I rolled my eyes. "Your birthday ended about five hours ago, I don't have to 'appreciate' anything even if there was something deserving appreciating. Return my… erm, property." I went to reach for the red material again only to be thwarted by my lack of height.

The incorrigible bastard had the gall to smirk at the small fumble of my speech caused by an obvious amount of shame. "Now Sakura, I thought your knowledge of manners far exceeded this display."

Sighing, I let my hand fall into my hair and push the mess of pink away from my face is exasperation, "You get more excruciating with every passing year don't you?"

"So they tell me."

It was simply and completely too early in the morning for this crap.


End file.
